Urban Warfare
by Mr.Baratheon97
Summary: In a world where Voldemort successfully overthrew Britain, Hermione survives. Just about, mind, but still. She has a mission; will she live long enough to find Harry Potter, the missing mesiah? Can she survive in a torn-up London where no corner is safe to turn? R&R
1. Hunter

Hermione had been running for far too long.

The flesh-eating ward she'd placed behind her was beginning to fall, but she couldn't replace it. There was no time. Sprinting back down the street, Hermione shot several cutting curses blindly over her shoulder and lunged behind a post-box. Peeking around the edges, she saw a small flash of light as her ward finally collapsed under the strain of their spell work.

'Crap...' she murmured, beginning a second ward across the road, along the zebra crossing a few foot from where she'd run.

When she finally looked up she saw them; there were still three snatchers after her, hungrily running like spurred predators after her blood. Their black cloaks did little to hide them in the daylight, which lit the small alleys Hermione used to hide in, giving her away. They all looked manic and desperate... Hermione briefly wondered what the bounty over her head was. It must be a lot.

Hermione threw a blasting curse their way and ran, sprinting back down the road and lunging as a bone-breaking curse hit the ground beside her feet. The tar exploded, and she flew, everything slowing down around her as she fell behind a charred pick-up that had clearly been on fire at some point. She groaned in pain, rolling towards the truck's skeleton for cover. The thigh she had landed on ached and throbbed but she only had enough focus to cast a small, numbing charm.

She smiled when she heard the first scream - one of them must have run right into her ward and been ripped apart. Readjusting her grip on her wand, Hermione cursed as she stood up, her legs aching and her side sore. 'Two more to go...' She whispered, dashing to the pub behind her. Luckily, the door swung open for her, and she slammed it behind her.

'Where is she?'

'Fuck knows... Granger was just there, I swear!'

'Find her!'

Hermione sighed in relief. It was extremely fortunate that the door to the _Stag and Crown_ had been unlocked, as the pub's empty interior proved that it had been abandoned for a while. She took cover behind a fallen pool table (the grassy felt torn and peeling), rolling the balls out onto the floor by the doors. One of the front windows had been blown wide open, giving her a useful vantage point of her bumbling pursuers.

Brushing her matting hair back, she swept some glass from the floor where she was and prepared. 'Blast, flash-bang, _Sectumsempra_... _blast, flash-bang, Sectumsempra_...'

Taking a final breath, Hermione jumped up from behind the pool table and vaulted over, ducking behind the window. A last shudder forcing its way down her spine, Hermione shouted out 'Come at me you fucking prats!' and ducked back down, firing flares and cutters into the air. Still bent down, she made her way to the back wall of the pub, and held her aim at the front door. The two remaining men burst in, unseeing, as she started her assault.

Blast. She threw a _Reducto_ at the ground, firing up shrapnel of wood and pool balls at the two assailants. One groaned and fell down, the other cutting his hand on the broken glass of the window pane as he recovered from the blast.

Flash-bang. Hermione shielded her eyes and shot an overpowered grenade of light and sound that was sure to blind and deafen her opponents.

Sectumsempra. Hermione cut them down, using one of their own leader's spells. There was a splatter of blood on the door, where one body was now slumped up against it. The other snatcher had gone down a little away, his body lying in the hole in the ground her first curse had made.

The first snatcher groaned, giving away his status. Hermione hadn't managed to kill him with her dark magic... Seeing the dart board on the wall, she banished the darts in the direction of the door. There was a short gasp and several _thunks_ , before Hermione peeked and saw the line of darts digging into the face of the snatcher that had almost lived.

All but collapsing out of fatigue, Hermione exhaled and chuckled, swearing 'Damn that was close...'

'Sir, someone's in there. There's dust and- Sir! I got blood!'

'Oh shit, shit shit!' Hermione ground out, pulling up once against the pool table and cursing her luck. Hiking up her jeans, she cocked her head to the side, trying to get a better view. She didn't have the energy to ward, and the voices sounded close. They were almost recognisable...

'Half-wits... Investigate then, and quickly. Report back later. The Dark Lord is calling.'

There was a faint pause, before- 'You heard Snape! Find out what 'appened to them snatchers! Go on!'

 _Snape_. That prick. The Snatchers that'd been after her were dealt with, but now there were fledged Death Eaters after her. Hermione was really cutting it close now. How many frigging snatcher parties were there out there? Her heart was pumping, her ears still ringing from her previous fight, that hadn't even been over five minutes ago. She would bet her life that the blood was still warm.

Hermione could faintly hear the steps of the man outside, as he kicked a plank of wood out of the way, as his boot crunched on the broken glass. She couldn't even tell how many there were, she was so close to escaping. She tried to formulate a plan, but she couldn't think. All she could do was wait, as the remnants of the door was pushed open with a half-arsed creak.

She heard the detection spell. They definitely knew she was there now. Right in front of them. She didn't want to be caught. Suicide? She could do it, she still had her wand. Isn't that the cowards' way out? Hermione didn't think she had a choice. The spell played on her lips. 'Avarda Kedavra... Avarda-'

The guy by the door went down, wailing in pain. There were several more shouts, and the sound of running. In the opposite direction - she knew for the sound was quietening. Hermione peered over the varnished edge of her shield when suddenly a blast of fire smashed through the front of the pub, the remaining glass window shattering into sand as it scattered into the air.

Hermione waited. She wasn't stupid. Maybe they were drawing her out... did they even know she was there? She knew that she had to leave however, for the building was getting hotter. She crawled out from the pool table and trudged her way over debris, and out into the day.

* * *

And so was the life of Hermione Granger, _Mudblood_. That's all she was now. No worth, no relations, no humanity. Just a caste. In a perfect world- Hermione scoffed, and carried on down the alley. 'There's no such thing.' she thought tersely, ending her _what if_ thoughts.

Lord Voldemort had won five years ago; the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, had been captured, but was now missing. War had broken out, and the world had basically fenced Britain off, neither helping nor offering freedom. The Daily Prophet was now even more of a joke, as was the corrupted Ministry of Magic. New registration acts had come first, underlined by disappearances and sudden resignations of influential liberals. The good guys, basically.

The blood purists within the ranks of the ministry wanted to cull Muggleborns, and who better to start with than the best friend of muggle-lover Harry Potter? But they hadn't caught her yet. Though they'd definitely been trying. She wasn't just a mudblood, she was _the_ mudblood.

Snatchers, bounty hunters, had her name at the top of their hit lists and Voldemort had promised a hefty sum for her capture, wanting to kill her himself. To use as an example, and to draw Harry Potter out from wherever he had gone. She personally didn't think Harry Potter would be so reckless as to come after her.

Her trick was to never settle. She never stayed in the same place for more than a few hours. Even as she slept, she would instinctively wake up and apparate to a new location, only to catch a few winks for a while longer. It was safer that way. But sometimes her strategy failed her - like today, she had practically jumped right into the middle of a snatcher tea party.

And look where it had gotten her.

Hermione was tired, growing wearier still as she trekked up the hill, tracing the edges of an office tower as she looked for somewhere to hide. She had everything she could ever need in her bag, which was slung hurriedly over her shoulder. Tinned fruits and pulses, worn clothes, books - lots of books had been lost over the years, and Hermione lamented each one. But she knew that she had all the books she would ever need in her possession. They kept her sane. Kept her alive.

Not that she wasn't ready to die, because she had made her peace with the thought.

Shaking her head miserably, she mulled over her readiness to off herself back in the _Stag and Crown_. Was it a cowardly way out? Probably. But did she want to give Voldemort the satisfaction of success? Definitely not. If she was already dead, he couldn't kill her, right? She didn't doubt for a second that regardless of who did the deed, her muddied corpse would be paraded about the streets of London. She knew it would be muddied up, too.

With a grin, and an allayed breath, Hermione jogged the last few metres towards the banged-up Arnage Bentley, which sat abandoned in the car park of a small supermarket. She'd almost forgotten where it was. Whipping her wand out, she pointed it at the car door and whispered ' _Alohamora_.'

The door of the burgundy car clicked open, and Hermione hurriedly got in, reclining over the backseats as she pulled the door deftly shut. Magic had to be used sparingly; it was harder for the enemy to trace her if she lived 'muggle' and she needed to save her strength as much as she could. Hermione couldn't afford to be tired when her life depended on it.

Leaning through the gap between the front seats, she flicked the CD player on and rocked her head to the sounds of blues as she fished cans from her bag; tuna and tinned peaches weren't a great combination but she couldn't really complain, she knew of people with less and so she was grateful.

Hermione stretched her legs out and let the tenseness out of her shoulders for a moment. It was rare that she would remain undisturbed for an entire evening, but now that her earlier kerfuffle was done with she could afford to loosen her laces a little. Stabbing a slice of peach with her fork and quickly shovelling it into her mouth, Hermione wondered how the Death Eaters were drawn away from her.

Who had caused that explosion? Hermione felt nervous about having to survive against yet another 'political' faction. It was odd, but Hermione didn't really think she had the time to waste being too concerned.

In the climate of the day, who really had the time to ponder over the past?

Listening to the chords reverberating inside the car, she remembered the resistance, the Order of the Phoenix, with nostalgia; there had been people with views not unlike hers, views agreeing with ideas of equality and liberty for all, be it pureblood, half-blood, muggleborn or even house elf. For the first two years after the 'disappearance' of Harry Potter, they had been strong.

Hermione herself had become part of the inner circle, but she was given a singular focus to mind - find Harry Potter. She hadn't been able to rest without thinking about him, her mission. Even now, as she put the empty can that once guarded her peaches in her rubbish bag, she was thinking of Harry Potter. Of how he was, where he could be.

She knew he was alive, regardless of all the signs everyone else had come to believe. If he was dead Voldemort would have hung his body from Buckingham Palace and declared a frigging bank holiday.

* * *

She had napped for a good two and a half hours before her eyes flew open, and she robotically packed away her stuff. Looking at the clock, she was agitated to know that it was evening. This was the hardest time for a mudblood. Snatchers were on full watch due to the darkness, and there was always the chance of a Death Eater waiting in the shadows. She'd been out once before, at this time, and she had run straight into the Dark Lord, Voldemort, himself.

Stepping out of the Arnage, she patted the roof affectionately before locking it magically and twisting, disappearing like vapour into the air of the night.

She landed a little more wobbly on her feet than she would have liked, but Hermione carried on. She steadied herself against a thrown-out wardrobe in the alleyway; it seemed like she spent all of her time in some alleyway or another, but it wasn't true. She had places.

Walking briskly, she found her door, concealed under layers of sophisticated charm-work and unlocked it. She didn't just have a simple disillusion charm; on her doors she always put flesh-eaters, gutting curses and spine-breakers, not to mention the detection spells and the alert wards that would warn her when anyone was nearby. She'd also put a linked tripping jinx right in front of the opening just for the hell of it, which she quickly disabled and re-established as she made her way into the building.

Climbing up the metal stairs, her dragon-hide boots clanged against each step. She was tempted to take them off for the sake of stealth, but she was already inside. Hermione didn't even feel like silencing her movement with magic. She could let her guard down once, surely.

Biggest mistake of her life.

Humming as she made her way up the stairs, she didn't notice the figure standing behind her. It was already too late when she felt their hand clasp over her mouth, stifling her shouts as she dropped her wand. There was little she could do as she was dragged back down the steps she had come, as she was being snatched from the building like the many muggle-born before her. She couldn't help but think of who she'd let down, as she was pulled against her will by this brute of a figure that she still couldn't see.

Hermione Granger thought she was done. Shaking and resisting as much as she could, she tried to pull out of the strong grip this pursuer had. He just lifted her off the ground entirely. In the struggle, her mouth came free enough for her to yell ' _Bombarda_!' - focusing on the ground beneath them.

Not many people knew she could actually cast wand-less. Harry Potter was one. Professor McGonagall, Tonks, Lupin... They were the people she assumed were still alive. Maybe she was joining the ones who weren't - Hermione didn't have the time to calculate any predictions.

The attacker must've been surprised by her power, for his grip on her went slack and she managed to break away as the floor underneath them finally crumbled, weakened by her spell. This other bastard wasn't so lucky. In an effort to stay upright, he'd leapt over the railing - he was now weakly hanging over a drop worth several flights.

'Help me...'

Hermione finally got a fair look at him. He was no child, but the begging look he gave her made him look innocent. He seemed like the kind of guy that would look more peaceful in death than he'd ever been in life anyway.

'Who the fuck are you to ask for help? You tried to kill me!'

'I'm sorry!' The man yelled, taking a look down. ' _Please_!' He begged, his legs swinging in the air.

'Do you know who I am?'

'No...'

'I'm a muggle-born witch. Remember that in the afterlife, asshole.'

Raising her wand, Hermione gave it a casual flick, also casting a silencer as the man screamed to his death. Sometimes to survive, one had to be cold. Tiredly trudging back up the staircase and massaging the tightness in her neck where she'd been collared, Hermione wondered whether he had been coerced by Death Eaters to reluctantly join in the chase, if he had a family, if he knew where Harry Potter was...

When she got to her floor, Hermione was about ready to faint from exhaustion. She hiked up her sleeve to get better access to her silver charm bracelet; a seven-year-old gift from Harry Potter, she'd kept it on her person through everything. There were a few decoy charms (the little stag, a book and a chess knight to name but a few) along the delicate metal links but the real ones were all the same - numbered keys. Being organised like she was, Hermione had all of the keys to all of her safe-houses literally on hand, numbered according to the order in which they were established.

She fumbled to find the right key as she went to her apartment, before shoving 'number thirteen' into her door. She twisted, and pushed the jarred door open enough for her to quickly slither through and bolt it shut behind her.

The building had obviously become compromised, and she'd have to clear out soon. But how had he gotten in? She was sure the place had been locked up tight. Hermione struggled to find a flaw in her warding as she took her shoes off, unhooked her bra and slumped onto the couch.

The apartment was much larger than she needed; the front door led into a living room, with a kitchen to the right and a single bedroom to the left. The bed was too far away for her to be bothered to walk to, so Hermione had just collapsed onto the leather sofa she'd conjured a while back. The walls were painted a dark grey, the only detail being the square window facing down onto the street. She had a good view of the main road, but now Hermione would have to find somewhere else to watch the streets from. There was a quaint plaza outside, built around a massive sculpture of a young man pulling a little girl up off the ground.

It spoke volumes to Hermione - she was the girl, and the compatriots sympathetic to her cause acted as her support, giving her the power to go on. Hermione felt, as she tried going back to sleep in the place for one last time, that she could keep going on.

Though she was ready to abandon the flat, she couldn't abandon the magical world, or Harry Potter. She still had a job to do, and she could not afford to die yet.

Hermione shifted into a more comfortable position and pulled over a pillow to hug as she swore to herself never to give in. The tussle in the stairway was too close; it was time to get real.


	2. Co-operative

Hermione didn't think she would just run into him today.

Not _today_. Not _Harry Potter_. Her schoolmate, her best friend and her ex-boyfriend. She didn't ever consider that seeing him again might be so easy. But it was, and boy was she pissed.

Just this morning, Hermione had packed away all of her things in her thirteenth hideout and put them in boxes. She'd even wiped a stray tear away as she straightened out her clothes; it was important to stay sentimental - caring emotions separated her from the Snatchers, from the Death Eaters, regardless of the number of corpses she'd left in her wake. She took of quickly, and all but flew down the stairs.

Warily, she made her way out the door by which she'd come in, disabling all of her protective measures as she thought bitterly 'They can have this building, doesn't matter to me now...' Hermione hadn't even thought about _him_ yet as she sidled down a few back streets, the smell of piss and rot stronger than she'd ever thought possible since the first evacuations had begun. People had been evacuated, sure. At the beginning. Quite quickly, Voldemort's sphere of influence enveloped any immigration service or shipyard willing to transfer muggles and muggleborns alike. Hermione's own application had been rejected, and had almost got her killed. It had put her on their radar, and now she was on the run.

And so here she was.

Trailing through the filth of Southwark's once well-groomed streets, Hermione spent the day mentally crossing boroughs off of her map, heading closer to the Thames; 'Bromley, check... Lewisham, yep, Southwark...check... City...' Travelling through the centre of London the last time had not been good; Hermione had lost friends, through no true fault of her own, and as a result her search hadn't been that thorough. That is to say, Hermione had to go back if she wanted to double check that Harry Potter wasn't surviving off of dust in the Tower of London or something.

She always felt guilty when she thought about City. Trying not to think too hard about it, Hermione silenced the area before blasting the backdoor of a post office open, moving to make her way through to the main road. The shop itself had been looted at some point - the light stench of alcohol followed by thorough vomiting still clung to the walls, as she made her way around the row of tellers' stations to the front. There were stacks of newspapers still sat in the shop, the top pages flapping in the breeze that swept through the holes of the broken windows. Taking a closer look, while being continually wary of any movement outside on the little high street, she winced as she read the front page;

'Boy-who-lived' Potter, dead.

That wasn't strictly speaking true, and all the publishers knew it. They were chatting shit, but only because Voldemort wanted them to - so as to strike fear into the hearts of defenceless men and women. That's all that mattered to him, how much fear the public had of him, how much influence he held over them. Harry Potter was a symbol, but Voldemort wanted desperately to kill the inspiring image of his arch-nemesis, the little boy that had defeated him time and time again.

There was even a large picture of Harry Potter's face, gritty as he grimaced for the mugshot. Yes, he'd been arrested at one point. 'But that's a different story...' Hermione thought wryly. She kicked the stack of papers down furiously, taking out her frustration at the situation that was the state of Britain. It wasn't true. Harry Potter was alive, or she would have felt it. Few had believed her when she had begged for supporting ears - these papers told a five-year-old story, and Hermione wanted so much to strangle the rumours dead.

She knew the truth. She didn't know how, but she did. Moving to the front, she tried the door - _locked_. Huffing in annoyance, Hermione carefully threaded herself through the windows, avoiding the jagged edges of brown glass- a dried splatter of blood that she hadn't noticed before adorned the face of the post office, accompanied by a pool-shaped stain on the pavement.

Hopping as she stepped out onto the street, Hermione planned her next move. She wanted to go through City again. Hermione knew it wouldn't be easy, but she wanted to have a proper sift through the dregs of the capital's centre. Too much had been left unchecked, and she hadn't been there long enough to create any safe-points.

Thinking back to the gaunt and scarred printed face she'd pummelled onto the floor only minutes ago as she trailed down the road, she wondered if things would have ended by now if she'd found Harry Potter there. Like she had thought she would. She blamed the summer weather for her complacent date of mind during those weeks of searching. Hermione couldn't have felt more optimistic the first time around, the sky bright with happy sunshine, which got to her.

She couldn't let things get to her.

* * *

Hermione had hardened after City. Not just because they'd failed to locate Harry Potter yet again. But because they'd lost Ronald. She'd lost Ronald. There had been four of them; Ronald, herself, Malfoy, and Terry Boot. They'd stupidly conceded to split - Malfoy wanted to go his own way, and Boot liked the way the aristocratic arse was thinking. They'd gone one way, while Hermione took Ronald by the hand and led him closer to Buckingham Palace. Dragging him to his death like some kind of disease he couldn't shake off.

They were stood in the centre of a sink in the ground, rubble piling into mountains Hermione had playfully slid down, landing in the middle. There were even bathtubs and an abundance of crisp packets and broken furniture and bricks and torn papers and so many bricks - had she thought of bricks already?

They just weren't careful enough - Hermione specifically remembered reminiscing under the July sun, spinning around carelessly in a dreamy state not unlike that perpetually inhabited by Luna Lovegood, telling Ronald what she wished they could have back. Stood in the shallow, vortex of waste, she had prattled to Ronald of the future she envisioned for them.

'Free house-elves, Ron. Can you imagine it? And... and jobs for those perfectly capable. We could go back to school, and Remus could still teach us-'  
'It's a pretty picture, alright.'  
'And, and Hogwarts food, for everyone. Harry could have all the treacle tart in the bloody world, sod those who try and take it from him.'  
'I thought _I_ was the one with the bottomless stomach...'

He'd been smiling, his face wide in wonderment of a future where all the pleasantries of their past still existed. It was the same face his body had as it hit the ground, _thump_ , staring off into the dream world he wasn't alive to see for himself. Hermione hadn't even registered where the curse had come from until one came her way. She had pranced a bit away from Ron, and so could escape to cover as a small swarm of Death Eaters made their way towards her.

She had screamed for Ronald as she took cover behind a bathtub, firing Reducto and even Crucio over the porcelain until all of the spell-fire in her direction had ceased. Some of the curses she saw sailing over the tub she recognised - others she hadn't a clue. Her brain wasn't working. When she got up, she knew who had killed Ron. Yaxley. Who was now, thankfully, also dead from an unblocked series of Reducto - two of which must have impacted his ribs from the gaping mass of organs and bone spewing out of the fresh corpse.

Ronald's body was comparatively peaceful, but was unmoving nonetheless. 'Damn Malfoy and Boot, damn Voldemort, fuck's sake...' She had thought as she cried, whispering for Ron to get up again, stroking his clash-y orange hair out of his still face. 

* * *

She hated seeing the dead.

Not just the real bodies out on the streets, mind. In her head she could clearly see the blood rushing out from underneath Ginny Weasley's head like red wine pouring from a spilt bottle, the twitching fingers of Kingsley Shacklebolt that poked out underneath the rubble that had been the atrium of the Ministry and the impassively glassy eye of Alastor Moody.

A lot of the time, she couldn't help but be reminded of little quirks of the people she used to know that she'd taken for granted; Ginny's ability to cheer her up from anything, Harry's tight hugs that he hardly ever initiated - shaking her head, Hermione put a stop to her train of thought. Harry Potter wasn't dead. Not him, not yet.

Hermione cursed her luck as she ducked behind a barren flower box that had been left carelessly in the middle of the road. She had luckily spotted the small foursome as they materialised by the bank just up ahead from where she was. As she spied on them, she realised how screwed she was. They were four seasoned death eaters; Dolohov hit Macnair over the head to the amusement of both Crabbe and the male Carrow, both of whom laughed as Macnair shot a jelly-legs jinx back at Dolohov.

Hermione fought to quash her anger, her utter rage, at their lax camaraderie. 'Who are they, to stand and laugh while innocent people die left right and centre?' She thought bitterly, ready to fire four killing curses in their direction. Steadying herself on her tip-toes, she stretched up a little to get a better view; they had the perfect vantage point - there were no obstacles between the four and herself bar an upturned white van a few feet ahead. Running to get behind that would get their attention, and that would waste time.

Hermione liked to be discreet. The idea of sending a close-ranged blast at the nearest Death Eater came to mind - Crabbe had inadvertently edged closer towards her as he surveyed the surroundings, taking care to peer into the high windows of the buildings lining the street as instructed by Dolohov. So, he wasn't looking in her direction. She could take him down quickly. But that would get the attention of the other three men. Though a strong duellist in her own right, Hermione was unsure in her ability to survive a three-on-one against Voldemort's inner circle.

Dolohov was clearly in charge. 'That's the same bastard that shot me down in the Department of Mysteries.' Hermione remembered bitterly, her vendetta against him buried for the sake of efficiency but unforgotten. That same Death Eater had tortured her parents a few years back - they had been saved and over time they'd recovered, but they had become adamantly against Hermione's involvement in the resistance against Voldemort.

It had been a hard goodbye when they'd been evacuated. She hadn't seen them in years - only a few broken phone calls that let them know she was still alive. Dolohov barked at Macnair, who walked off to join Crabbe. As Macnair was coming closer, he turned to answer another one of Dolohov's orders with a biting yet consenting remark.

Now was her chance.

One spell. She wasn't taking any chances. Crabbe was the weakest, so she might as well eliminate him now. From behind her cover, Hermione jumped up and fired a quick _Avarda Kedavra_. Crabbe's short wand rattled on the floor as it fell from his grip, as his fat body hit the ground like a bag of dragon dung. The others turned to look, and Carrow immediately fired a few Incendio her way. Not that he knew anyone was there.

'Crabbe!'  
'He's gone, Walden! Get back.'  
'Where'd the shot come from? Up there?'  
'N-no, that was a point-blank shot. Amycus, check that vehicle. I've got _that_.'  
'We can't let this go, damn it; the Dark Lord won't be impressed.'  
'Ant, deal with the body, will you?'

They were going to find her. No doubt about that. Hermione wanted it on her terms. She shot another killing curse at Macnair, who was stood just in front of her. He ducked, and the spell flew into the distance.

'Granger! Surrender, you dirty bitch!'  
'Surround her-'

A Reducto in Dolohov's direction shut him up, as Hermione threw a shield up. She couldn't see Carrow - that was a problem. Firing several cutting curses and a surprise body-binder at Macnair, Hermione swivelled to find Carrow, who had actually come up right behind her. He grabbed her waist, and tried to pin her wand-arm down. His arm crushed her shoulder, and his stubble scratched her cheek, he was so close- Hermione used the localised-electrocution spell she had developed, shoving volts of electricity through Carrow's forearms and into his body. She felt his muscles tense as she hurriedly shook him off, moving away from his body as he writhed on the tarmac. For good measure, Hermione drenched him with Aguamenti. From the heat and smoke rising from his form, Hermione figured that Carrow was definately dead now.

'I've got this bitch!'

Macnair threw a killing curse her way, but she dodged it deftly. She was about to throw her own back at him when his head suddenly flew off his neck. 'What the fuck?'

Dolohov turned with her to look at the new threat when suddenly, his raised left arm fell from its socket (wand still held tightly), thumping onto the ground. Dolohov looked at the wound, and looked at Hermione, before falling to the floor. 'What the fuck?!' Hermione's mind screamed as the new assailant ran into the road from the side street whence the attacks came. Hermione kept her wand up, and eyed the person as they saw her. As _he_ recognised her.

As she recognised him.

* * *

They stood staring at each other for what seemed like forever. She knew those green eyes, and that black hair. Those eyes. That angular face, that frame - clearly malnourished but roughish and alert. She had been looking for so long.

'H-Hermione?'

Hermione's knees almost buckled. His voice was as shaky as she thought her own might've been, had she the courage to speak. She nodded, as tears built up. It was him.

Harry Potter.

He ran up to her, but she waved her wand, and a small stinging charm hit his chest. She wouldn't take any chances, not with this. She had to be sure. He stumbled, and groaned as he rubbed his chest. As he edged slowly closer to her, arms raised.

'What occasion was it when I made the dinner that Mrs Weasley loved so much?'  
'Trick question. You don't cook. Or can't, more like-'  
'Why didn't I suggest that you, if you are _you_ , take me to the Yule Ball in Fourth Year?'  
'You thought I was gay, so it didn't occur to you that I might've fancied you.'  
'Which fairy tale is my favourite?'  
'I know this... Sleeping- no, 'Beauty and the Beast'?'  
'Yeah, actually...'

And then they were hugging. She fisted his shirt in her hands, and shook uncontrollably in his arms as he gripped her just as tightly. She'd found him. He was alive. So much time. So much effort. Hermione remembered where she was, and suddenly pushed him off of her.

'Where the fuck have you been, Harry? Where were you?!' Harry tried to pull her back into his arms but she shook him off. 'You just stroll in like a complete _arse_ , steal my kills and expect me to, to-'  
'Hermione, I'm sorry. _So_ sorry, I-'

Hermione slapped him, hard, and then pulled his face back to her own. She pressed her lips onto his own, and kissed him. Hard. Breaking apart, he leaned in for another but was shoved back slightly as Hermione broke out into sniffles and pushed herself into his chest. Her voice muffled, she said 'I've missed you so much, you prat.'  
'I've missed you too.'  
'They got Ron. He-he's dead.'  
'I- _oh_. God, I'm sorry.'

Harry didn't cry like she'd expected. He used to cry all the time, bless his heart. He stiffened around her, sure, but he didn't need any support of his own. Holding her, he said 'Maybe we should get off the road. Take you to mine?'  
'Yours? Have you been here long?'  
'The Order's sort of established here for now, 'cause our escape plan involves sea travel - only way Riddle can't track us, see? But we'll probably move now, with Death Eaters getting this close.'  
'Everyone thought you were dead! What Order is there left?'  
'Me, Neville, and Remus... Luna will be here soon, as will Tonks, Bill and Fleur.'  
Hermione sighed in relief, and moved on. In a business-like tone she asked 'Is Snape still-'  
'I don't even know anymore. All I know is that he's shacked up at our old school.'  
'How long will your resources hold out for?'  
'A few months, almost a year, assuming everyone stays together.'  
'Alright. I've got stuff in my bag that'll fortify your stocks. And I want to inspect the wards as soon as we get to wherever you're taking me. I'm assuming you've used the Fidelius-'

Harry kissed her brow and hugged her tighter again. 'God I've missed you.' Hermione hummed in agreement, and they disentangled. She cast a quick disillusionment charm on the both of them before heading in the direction Harry had come from. 'I'm assuming it's this way?'  
'Yeah. Second left down that road.'

After all this time, he'd been by the Thames in Southwark. Watching him as they moved, she almost didn't believe he was really there, or that there was a resistance other than her. Harry told her that there was only a little way more to walk, and that trying to apparate would have consequences since she wasn't exempted from the wards.

Hermione quickly realised that he too was hardened from war; Harry didn't really talk as much anymore, and he'd gained a bit of muscle. He had a few more scars than she remembered, and he moved with a subtle limp that she wouldn't have seen if she didn't know him as well as she did. They moved quickly, falling into a long-practiced formation as they made their way down to a crossing. 'Next one.' Harry guided, covering her as she crossed the road. Hermione did the same for him, and they rushed further away from another scene of violence Hermione seemed to leave in her wake.

Maybe she attracted trouble as much as Harry did back in the day.

They turned where Harry wanted, and he led her to a pair of large detached houses. They were both tall, with their own overgrown lawns and alarmed fences. Harry said 'Our place is sort of in between. You'll probably feel a bit odd-'  
'Harry, I know. Just take me inside.'

Harry took her hand, and led her towards the walls in between the two properties she could see. She felt something wash over her, as Harry said 'I'm not the secret keeper, for, um, well for obvious reasons. But I can still bring you in.''Is it Remus-'  
'No. You'll find out soon enough.'

Hermione couldn't see anything other than a massive green space edged with a light pavement. A square lawn rich with grass and other weeds spread out to the back of the area, which was encased by four greyed-brick walls (the fourth of which they'd actually just walked through, apparently). Harry pulled Hermione along as she hesitantly stepped forward. He stopped for a second when they'd stepped on the grass and turned, looking sheepish. 'I'll have to carry you up the steps, there are quite a few.'

Hermione found it in her to smirk. 'Have to, or want to?'  
Harry blushed, and admitted 'I could let you stumble up on your own.'  
With a half-hearted huff Hermione conceded 'If it makes you feel more manly, feel free to carry me.'

He grinned, and picked her up unsteadily. Hermione leant into his arms and felt the tense muscle underneath his shirt. 'Have you been working out?' she asked coyly, her fun personality leaking out after years of strictness as they suddenly went up in the air. Hermione knew in her head that there were stairs beneath them, but her life-long fear of heights was beginning to play up. 'Just don't look down.' Harry said, holding her a little closer as they made it to what felt like the top. Harry freed a hand awkwardly to open a door, and then she saw it; the hallway, the inside of the building she couldn't see, was fairly dark and there was no immediate sign of life as Harry said 'Honey, I'm home...'

When Neville came bustling around the corner, wearing a frilly apron not too dissimilar to that owned by Mrs Weasley, Hermione would have laughed. Except that in shock he'd instinctively shot a stunning charm her way. Hermione slumped in Harry's arms, and caught him admonish 'Nev, what the fuck!' before losing consciousness.

At least they were exercising constant vigilance.


End file.
